my hand lands on the crest of a wing that appears to be covered in soft bright violet feathers.
What the fuck!
I lift my shoulders nearly to my ears, and the wings fucking move with them. I snatch my hand away like I touched something gross and snap my face forward, my eyes wide and horrified. “I have bright purple wings!” I shriek.
“Any imp could see that.” Not-God snaps, clearly fed up with my lack of answers.
“Get them off me!” I try to lean away from the feathered appendages that are evidently attached to my back. “Get them off me right now!” I squeal, like it’s a spider attacking me and not bird parts fused with my parts.
“How dare you!” Not-God bellows, his face reddening as my panic climbs to an all-time high.
The sound of flapping wings and the feel of beaks pecking at me fills my mind. I tried to throw the last of the food in my hand as far away as possible, but the peckerhead doves were too stupid to realize that I didn’t have anything for them anymore. In a matter of seconds, I was swarmed. The vile beasts were intent on ending my life one flap and nip at a time. I screamed for my mom, terrified. But by the time she cleared all the evil doves away from me, I was traumatized for life.
Not-God yells at me, but I’m stuck in the horrible memory. I keep turning around to look at them, like I can try to find a way to get them to detach. I barely make out the fact that he yells for someone else. I’m clearly too freaked out to do anything but lose my shit over the fact that I have wings now attached to my back. I fucking hate birds, and now the parts I hate the most are the parts of them that are stuck to me.
I run my fingers through my hair as anxiety pumps through me, but I scream when my hand brushes a wing again.
“Oh, God, gross! So fucking gross! Get ’em off!” I demand again, and something in my tone sends Not-God into a panic too.
“Get what off?” he yells at me, his golden blond wings snapping irritably behind him as he looks all over my body, like he’s expecting to find a bug crawling on my skin.
Another panicked shriek rips out of my mouth as I watch his wings move closer to me, and it’s like I’m right back in the park, ten years old again and screaming as the flock descends on my body.
Someone else comes running toward us, but I’m hyperventilating at this point and have to put my hands on my knees and force myself to breathe, so I’m unable to make out who’s here. My disgusting wings are heavy on my back, making me feel like I might topple over. They make their presence known like a whispered threat telling me I’m never going to get away now.
“Is Lucifer pranking me?” Not-God asks of whoever is also in the room.
I don’t hear what they say, because the sound of my heart in my ears is too loud. The black spots around my vision aren’t the inky rage I’m used to, but an indication that I’m not getting enough oxygen in my lungs thanks to the panic attack I’m currently suffering from.
“They’re not there. It’s just a fuzzy backpack,” I tell myself, like it will convince my brain it’s true. “I’m just carrying stuff, that’s all. Just a backpack. A big purple one.” It’s not working.
Out of nowhere, my scythe warms in my hand, and in the blink of an eye, the blades pop out of each end. The action startles me, forcing me to stand up straighter. A lanky, wingless man jumps back from me with a shout like I just tried to burn him.
“How am I supposed to detain her, sir, when she has that?” he asks, an Irish lilt to his worried voice.
Detain me?
I shove thoughts of my wings to the back of my mind with a shiver and force myself to focus. I hold my scythe out threateningly and narrow my eyes at the blond winged man and his little friend.
“I need to get out of here now,” I bark, still not sure where here even is. The blond prick said something about his house though, so I’m hoping that means there’s a way in and out of it.